


underneath city lights

by Bai_Marionette



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Lots of implications in this, M/M, Minor Character Death, Time Skips, Unrequited Love, i mean technically psuedo incest for ivan but it's never requited, implied sex, technically it's not rusame but yes it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bai_Marionette/pseuds/Bai_Marionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>And lease this confusion, I'll wander the concrete<br/>Wonder if better now having survived<br/>Jarring of judgement and reasons defeat<br/>The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth I'm alive</p>
  <p>    <b>Hozier, "Angel of Small Death & The Codeine Scene"</b><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	underneath city lights

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back but forgot to post, well here it is. I was thinking of making it a series and filling in the gaps but let's see how the majority rules before I do. No real graphic warnings for this.

**Moscow, 1912**.

“So you wish to work for me, yes?” She asked as she leaned over her desk, her partly exposed bosom caught the young man’s eyes for a second before he drew them away. She gave a close lipped smile, but the sweetness of it didn’t reach her eyes. Thinking that he had been caught or something worse, Ivan fought not to shudder under her gaze.

This woman was dangerous. He had to play his cards carefully; any wrong move he made could lead to his new home in the docks or a random ditch that was miles from the city.

“Yes,” Ivan reaffirmed, sitting up straight in the chair.

She smiled again, closing her eyes, revealing very nice dark eye shadow. Her eyes sprang open, pure electricity and the next thing Ivan knew was that he was lying on the floor. His heart struggled to pump nonexistent blood through his veins and he gasped for air. His body felt cold, too cold, and yet far too hot. He felt like he was ripping himself in half, worse than that one drunken experience in his university studies, he felt like he was actually dying. His chest squeezed and his eyes all but bugled from his face. He clawed at the floor, nails digging into the wood as he heaved for breath for his oxygen-starved lungs. He tried to claw away, to the door, to the only exit besides the suicidal drop out the tall windows behind the woman’s desk.

But then she was in front of him, as if she knew his thoughts. She smirked, it looked evil down from Ivan’s view. This woman was the devil, she was the actual devil and he would find proof if he lived through this, he would -

The woman looked down at him, wiping her mouth, her perfect red lipstick not even smeared at all. She smiled at him, putting her hands on her ample hips, “Don’t fight it, darling, it will all be over soon.”

Ivan wanted to believe her, but it was so hard – and then it wasn’t so hard at all. He blinked and sat up, oh so slowly. He blinked at her with a completely new perspective and she smiled at him. This time, he wasn’t afraid. He awaited an order.

She grinned, a broad thing with too many sharp teeth to even remotely look human. “Good boy,” she said. “Now we can put you to work.”

**Paris, 1943**.

“You could fight, you know,” Katyusha said, adjusting her parasol.

Ivan grunted, but kept silent and trudged further through the mud. The dead bodies atop mud barely slowed him, the woman following him giggling to herself as she kept close behind.

**New York City, 1956**.

Ivan sat beside Katyusha, in some tea parlor. She was spreading a napkin over her lap, smiling pleasantly to the waitress and making small talk about something or another. The male stared off into space. She kicked his foot and his eyes looked up at the waitress with her pen ready to take down his order.

He glanced at the menu laid in front of him, “Coffee, black. No sugar.”

Katyusha gave him a thin lipped smile, and he added on, “Please.”

The waitress smiled and chirped that she’d be right back and ran off, leaving the pair to themselves.

“You have been distant lately,” Katyusha pointed out. Ivan didn’t want to answer but knew he had to, so he settled for shrugging. The woman didn’t like that response, blue eyes narrowing and mouth coming back to a thin lipped smile. Suddenly the warm urban air of July was frigid. Ivan glanced at the older woman and then down at the table. He felt the sensation of an icepick drilling into his skull and his facial features twisted before he forced his eyes to meet hers.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Yes what?” She pressed, the sensation increasing in intensity.

Ivan almost caved in but managed, “I’ve been distant.”

The sensation vanished and he gave a sigh of relief; Katyusha looked concerned, remaining silent. Then she voiced a quiet question to his thoughts alone, not daring to speak them aloud, “Am I not enough for you?”

Ivan didn’t dare meet her gaze, settling for looking back at the table and fiddling with a spoon, silent. But it was all the answer she needed because she slammed her hands down on the table and left him there, alone and waiting on drinks that thankfully never came.

**Boston, 1962**.

Ivan took in the new sights and smells of the bustling city, almost smiling at the variety of life at his grasp. He wanted to be a part of it, wanted to merge himself with them, be among that way of life again-

“Ivan.”

Oh right.

His expression hardened back to stone and he finished the job quickly after that.

**Orlando, 1971**.

“I brought you a gift,” Katyusha said one day. It was another one of her vain attempts to get the male to look her in the eyes. He had to meet her gaze to accept the present, whether he wanted to or not, he could not resist instinct.

The male sighed, turning off the television in their motel and looking at her. His eyes widened for the first time since he was a newborn.

The woman didn’t dare fidget under his gaze, throwing the unconscious form between them, “He’s your responsibility now, take care of him. He needs all of the things you used to need, like food, water…”

Ivan stopped listening, rising from the armchair and kneeling to the human. He picked up their chin, careful of their fragile bones and watched them stir to life. The tiny body blinked. Once, twice and then thrice, before starting.

“W-who are you?” The boy shrieked, trying to back up, almost on the verge of crying. Katyusha took them by the shoulders, holding them still. She smiled, it was close lipped. “Or we could also-“

“Leave him be,” Ivan interrupted her and removed her hands. He gently held the small toddler in his arms, shushing away his fears in a language that the child did know and effortlessly easing them to a safe slumber under his voice. “Thank you,” he mouthed to Katyusha.

She smiled, close lipped, and clasped her hands behind her, mouthing back, “You’re welcome.”

She left shortly after and a poor stewardess became the balm for her grief.

**Dallas, 1986**.

Alfred looked at Ivan, almost up to his shoulders now. He was nearly twenty, his birthday coming up in the summer, and he was the eye of the older male’s affections. He could smile his way out of trouble and handle a gun just the same. He made his ‘papa’ very proud.

He was the bane of Katyusha’s existence.

She found him too brash and too loud, his cleanup too sloppy to cover their tracks, and overall annoying when he wasn’t working. She eagerly awaited the boy’s death, eagerly awaited the return of Ivan to her bed at night.

“Hey Ivan,” Alfred spoke up from the backseat of the car, glancing back from the window, “How did you find me?”

Ivan smiled and it made Katyusha’s blood boil that it wasn’t for her. But she still listened, as she told Ivan to make a turn onto a new street. They would park the rental here and continue on foot to their location.

“Easy, you were a miracle,” Ivan replied. The same story he gave every time Alfred asked.  “You were given to me and my longing was satisfied.”

Alfred glanced back out the window, unsatisfied. Katyusha was just glad he was quiet again, he was easier to ignore that way.

**Sacramento, 1987**.

Alfred was killed.

A deal had gone sour, they were outnumbered and the dumb child had tried to buy time for Ivan. Katyusha had seen it, had seen everything – she could have saved him. But she didn’t. She didn’t even tell him his back was open. Let the vultures feast on him.

Katyusha and Ivan finished the mission, but the male was grief-stricken.  He tried to revive a corpse, a wide eyed and bloody corpse, almost making to bite where no pulse existed but Katyusha stopped him from making that desperate mistake. She had slapped the body from his hands, kneeling in front of him and forcing him to meet her eyes. He had tried to fight her, tried to go back to the boy he had raised and loved, but she wouldn’t let him. Holding him as he watched the body grow cold, too cold to still be alive, and let the first wave of depression fall.

A week later, when Katyusha promised him another child, he rejected her so harshly that she had almost slapped him but then she froze. She had frozen there with her hand upraised only to lower it and stalk away after watching as Ivan rubbed the boy’s locket in his big fingers. She knew what was inside: Their ‘family photo,’ because they were all that the boy had known for years.

It was during her night prowl, that she realized that they had never buried the boy.

**Mexico City, 1992**.

Ivan found an interest in Day of the Dead.

Katyusha didn’t, they left before he could find out more about the celebration.

**London, 2001**.

They were in another tea parlor, but this time they were talking. Ivan seemed to be happier nowadays, Katyusha was happy too. They had seemed to settle their differences, joining beds once more. Then her reality shattered.

“I leave you after this,” Ivan admitted, taking a sip of his tea. “I want to go on my own.”

Katyusha felt numb. She had to grant him his wish, traditions overruled her feelings. Ivan was more than old enough to leave her, had been so for over a decade. She wondered why he had let her believe he would stay if she was just going to leave like this.

Ivan sighed, lowering his head and then going to meet her eyes. She couldn’t force him to lower his gaze. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to meet his eyes and she didn’t want to agree.

“I love you,” he said, cupping his hand over hers on the table. “But I need to set off on my own. You knew my day would come…”

That was the second time that Katyusha stormed out of a tea parlor, on the verge of tears.

**Minsk, 2014**.

Katyusha sat at another desk, looking at another prospect. She was pretty, reminded the older woman of Ivan from their similar facial features. “So you wish to work for me?”

The young girl nodded, gaze determined, straightening in her chair, “Yes ma’am, I am fit for the job.”

Katyusha smiled, close lipped, and then she closed her eyes.

She hoped that this one wouldn’t leave her like Ivan did.

Katyusha lunged.


End file.
